Breakfast At Macavity's
by Kirsten Louise
Summary: Why is Mungojerrie working for Macavity? Macavity sulks over the evils of, well, being evil, and everyone's favorite thief is decidedly unsubtle. Rated up to be safe. Mungojerrie x Macavity.


Disclaimer: It's very nice of you to have mistaken me for either Andrew Lloyd Webber or T.S. Eliot, but I'm afraid this may come as a disappointment: I'm not.

Word Count: 1,212

Rating: T, rated up to be safe: slight sexuality and minor innuendo (SLASH)

A/N: Beta'd by Puddycat. Note that "tomelet" is not a typo; think evil, and it will come… Furthermore, my cats have opposable thumbs, like coffee, and are prone to kissing.

…………………………………………………………..

It was raining outside, a typical English summer. The sort of weather you contracted pneumonia in. He hated the rain, being that it ruined his coat for days, what with the mud and all. Decidedly uninterested in giving a full forecast, he turned his attention back to breakfast.

He stared down at his plate, shoulders hunched as he pushed bits of tomelet around with his fork. Okay, so it was only egg and cheese, your standard fare as far as omelets went, but no one needed to know that. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all. He sighed inwardly. Really, no one had an inkling of just how damned _difficult_ it was to be Macavity.

He couldn't even enjoy a nice breakfast without cats accusing him of tricks and torture left and right. Was it so wrong that he would rather starve than eat that revolting substance ominously known as cat-food? Besides escaping in a pinch, breakfast was about the finest his magic could do. _How about an invention of my own? We'll market it under the generic label of human-food; ground up garbage and turkey spleens, a delicious crunch in every bite. Now in boneless and fat-free varieties at a Macavity-Mart near you._

Looking over the top of his newspaper, Mungojerrie met Macavity's eyes briefly. "You're sulking again," he said, turning a page.

"Am not," he retorted, glaring at the cat across the table. "I'm brooding. It's a fine gradation that I'm certain would escape your intellectual capacity. Why are you reading _that_?" he punctuated the word by viciously stabbing at a piece of egg.

"I ain't reading it!" Mungojerrie said it as if anyone who actually read the newspaper was a right git. "I'm just looking at the pictures." He sloppily – and rather noisily – took a swig of tea. Breakfast with Macavity was always like this. Blimey, but no cat in the service of ol' Maccy here could ever find it in himself to be terrified again. Monster of Depravity indeed. Chortling, he shook his head. "Mac, that pout near puts me sister to shame, it does."

Fighting to keep his voice level, always a potential problem, he said, "Refresh my memory, if you will, and kindly do me the favor of reminding me _why_ I hired you?" Mungojerrie was such a clown, it was a wonder he managed to steal anything.

Propping his feet up on the table, Mungojerrie leaned back on the legs of his chair, arms positioned behind his head. He knew it really grated on Macavity's nerves for anyone to "defile" his precious table. And, without a doubt, this was the cockiest pose he could pull off. "Well," he said with the air of one in deep thought, "I'll admit that I've been askin' meself that a lot lately… you see, I've always had this sneaking suspicion that it was my bloody-good looks what done it. Possibly you havin' a keen desire to get in my knickers. Uh, metaphorically speaking, that is." He winked, blowing Macavity a kiss.

Macavity was far from impressed. Everlasting Cat! Old Deuteronomy had it so much easier. He had _clever_ cats on his side, like that magician. He fumbled for a name. Mr. Mistoffelees; that was it. Though he was disinclined to show it, the thwarting of his plan at the last Jellicle Ball was still a sore spot, not that anyone would understand if he was sensitive about such things. They would only expect him to whip up another diabolical scheme over the next twelve calendar months. Even Rum Tum Tugger was a sight better than what he had to put up with.

Whenever he went recruiting – often enough, considering that being one of the bad-guys entailed a lot of risky situations – the best of his would-be henchmen were smart enough not to be enticed by the (mostly empty) promises of power, infamy, and complementary mochas every Thursday. The feline forces of evil, it seemed, were fated to consist of grinning idiots like Mungojerrie. Why the hell was good help so hard to come by? _Explain that_, he thought, adding a generous dollop of cream to his coffee. _And while you're at it, would somebody care to explain why I'm sleeping with said grinning idiot?_

Macavity swished his tail in irritation. He pulled away from the table, snatching up his coffee cup as he did so. _Is that grin permanently plastered to that stupid face of his?_ "I shall be in the solarium, should you need me." It was just a plastic canopy, really. And a solarium wouldn't have done him any good even if he had one, what with all the rain.

Maccy sure was a real piece of work. Mungojerrie finished his tea before following him to the – the, uh, wossname… started with an s. _Oh, bugger all._ _Why's he have to use such bloody big words? Makes a bloke's head spin._

He found Macavity lazing in the corner atop a raggedy old blanket. _Just delights in squalor, doesn't he!_ Skipping the introductions, he plopped down on Macavity's lap, unceremoniously mashing their lips together. He teasingly licked at a stray speck of cream. _Right pervert, he is_, he thought fondly as he felt Macavity's claws dig into his hips. Snaking his tongue into Macavity's mouth, he tasted the familiar combination of coffee and cream. No sugar, he was willing to bet.

Macavity nipped lightly at Mungojerrie's bottom lip. He could probably forgive Mungojerrie anything, right then, as long as he didn't stop rocking his hips like that. Mungojerrie broke the kiss, and licked a line down the column of his throat. Then he stopped completely. Just like that. Macavity's mind supplied a full spectrum of colorful curses.

Feigning sudden interest elsewhere, Mungojerrie asked, "Hey, are you gonna drink this?" He gestured towards Macavity's coffee, grabbing for it, only to have his hand slapped away. _Really, this is too easy!_

Narrowing his eyes, he looked daggers at Mungojerrie. Macavity thought he knew better than to even think of touching his coffee. He grabbed it before the other cat could. "Mine! Besides, you don't even _like_ coffee if it isn't saturated with so much sugar that it becomes toxic." He took a drink.

Apropos of nothing in particular, Mungojerrie – oddly casual for still straddling Macavity's hips – said, thoughtfully, "I think I know why I'm working for you, Mac."

"Oh, really? Do tell."

"It's not the pay – though I admit I fancy that – or the food, though of course that's good too. It's something entirely different. Something special, yeah?"

He leaned close to the ginger tom, hot breath ghosting over his ear. Just as Macavity started to take a drink of coffee – it was bizarre, how he insisted on doing that, no matter how involved they were at the moment – he whispered, "It all really comes down to one thing, luv: If you don't mind me saying it, you've got _such_ a lovely di—"

Mungojerrie got a face full of coffee as Macavity did a fantastic spit-take.

"—sposition," he finished, trying his best to look innocent.

With a sound of disgust, Macavity shoved Mungojerrie from his lap. He stalked out of the room without a word, leaving Mungojerrie in stitches.

Breakfast with Macavity definitely had its high-points.


End file.
